


Show Me

by arrow (esteefee)



Series: Show and Tell [2]
Category: due South
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, POV First Person, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-03
Updated: 2009-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:24:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You got your exhibitionism, your masturbation, your naked-Mountie-in-a-Stetson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me

I've got Fraser--Constable Benton fucking-_Fraser--_lying on my bed, buck naked except for the Stetson, which is tipped just so I can barely see his eyes. And that, my friends, is what you would call severely righteous, a sight plenty good enough to make a guy's dick do the Watusi (or maybe the Frug), but the cherry on the donut is he's got his hand wrapped around his cock, his long/thick/stiff-as-blazes, wet-at-the-tip cock, and finally, _finally_ he's gonna show me how he likes to do himself.

I'm not saying Fraser is inhibited, or up-tight, or even a little prudish sometimes when it comes to certain things, because do I really need to say it? Isn't that like one of those redundancy things, like saying snow is cold, or Mounties are red, or Chicago has a small problem with organized crime? Because, yeah, getting Fraser to loosen up in the sack has been a little bit like pulling the sled without a dog team--which we had to do once getting it back up a gorge, and _not fun_ was the catch phrase for that project, but the opposite is true in this case.

This is fun. Big fun.

It's the getting started part that's always the hardest for him. Once he's revved and moving, he's hot and limber and quick to follow my lead. But when we first hit the sheets he always acts like he's waiting for a permission slip, and when I whisper dirty suggestions (demands, really) in his ear, he dithers and blushes and coughs a little before saying, "Yes, Ray, if you like" and getting on with it, a little awkward but all there, completely determined to get it _right_, if you know what I mean. Sometimes, when he messes up a little, fumbles the ball (heh), I almost expect him to write himself up on disciplinary report.

_   
`Constable Fraser, in the course of applying his wicked hot, wet, Hoover-certified mouth to Ray Kowalski's member, did unintentionally descend a little too quickly until his gag-reflex was triggered, making for a less-than-enjoyable bout of coughing and some highly un-sexy sounds for some minutes. To his credit, after apologizing profusely the Constable recovered rapidly and applied himself eagerly in making restitution by sucking Detective Kowalski to within an inch of his natural lifespan.`   
_   



See, he really wants to get it right, I'm not kidding, but sometimes that has an inverse effect on the fun factor. So, I thought, let's have him do something he's familiar with, so he can't possibly screw up and start in with all the _I'm sorry, Rays_ when I'd much rather have him put his mouth to other uses.

"Show me how you do yourself," I said to him, and he didn't get it at first, so I made the hand-gesture. His eyes got wide and his tongue came out for a nervous lick.

"O-okay, Ray," he said, sounding like I'd asked him to scale Mount Wernecke with nothing but a box of dental floss and a couple of toothpicks. But his lips got all straight and he shucked off his boxers, so he was in the game.

"Put on the hat," I said, on a whim, really, although when I thought about it later I realized my motive wasn't just to get a sweet porn visual, but because Fraser always feels more comfortable wearing his hat.

His eyes got even wider, but he did it--put on his hat.

So now I've got my naked, hatted Mountie sitting up against the headboard, his legs kind of splayed out to each side, and his hand on his dick. I'm lying naked along the foot of the bed, propped up on one elbow, not touching myself, not yet. I want this to last.

His head is down. I think he's looking at my knees, but I can't see his eyes, and his lips are doing this pouty thing that generally means he's concentrating really hard.

"This is the part where you start doing it," I say encouragingly, and he nods once, but his hand doesn't move on the stick.

"Ah, not to state the obvious, Ray, but this isn't--that is, this is usually a more, er, solitary activity."

"Yeah, Ben. That's what makes it so hot."

"Oh." He tilts his head. "Aren't you going to..." he nods at my crotch.

"Nope. This is the Fraser Show."

"Oh," he says again, and his chest is so red I'm wondering how much blood is left to supply his cock, but apparently he's got plenty to spare. Like the extra lung-capacity thing, I guess.

But he still isn't moving; he's just holding himself, and I give him a _get on with it_ look.

He clears his throat. "To tell you the frank truth, Ray, this isn't exactly my...customary venue for this particular activity."

"No?" That gets me wondering about what constitutes a sanctioned Mountie jerk-off spot. The closet? His cot? A tent on the tundra? When we were on our adventure, I never once caught him at it, and believe me, I'd been looking. "Where do you usually do it?"

"Well, I've found the shower usually affords the necessary privacy for when, on occasion, I've needed to seek--"

I wait for it, really curious how he's going to finish.

"--Ah...personal relief."

That makes me grin, and Fraser's lip quirks. His pale nipples are tight and white at the tips.

"So, whaddaya say we hit the shower?"

His head comes up. He looks relieved. "I think that's an ideal suggestion, Ray." He sounds more relaxed, which is what I was after. We both get off the bed, bumping into each other, Fraser begging pardon and me just laughing and hip-checking him against the bedroom door because I can. He loses the Stetson, which makes me sad for a second, but, trade-off? Wet Mountie.

My shower is too narrow, so I have to stand behind him. I watch the water stream through his thick, dark hair and twist down his spine while he lathers up and rinses off. Then Fraser flicks a nervous glance at me over his shoulder, and leans on one palm against the shower wall, dropping his head to rest against his arm. His other hand moves to his waist, and I get closer--I don't want to miss a damned thing. I can feel him stiffen against my chest when I crook my chin over his shoulder to peer down.

Fraser is working himself with his big hand, the flushed head of his cock appearing and disappearing within his fist. My mouth is dry, and I dip my chin to lick up the water beading along his collarbone.

He gasps and his hand tightens around his cock. He's pumping hard now, gripping himself really tight, every so often letting his palm come all the way up to run over the crown. His hips are moving slightly into his hand, not really thrusting, but swaying, and he's leaning harder on his arm. I can barely see his profile, just the clean lines of his dark eyebrows and lashes, and the angle of his cheek, but I see his neck and face are flushed red. His eyes are closed tight, but his mouth is open and he keeps licking his lips while he works his hand up and down.

I lean harder against him and whisper in his ear. "That's it...beautiful, Ben, just beautiful." I rub my hard-on against his ass cheek.

Fraser throws his head back, making a startled noise, and his hand falters.

"Go on, go on," I say. My voice is hoarse.

He starts panting, and his hand is moving faster, up and down, arm flexing smoothly. He stops suddenly and runs his thumb back and forth over the tip of his foreskin, over and over, and I can _feel_ it, the vibration of Fraser's moan, running through his back and into my chest. I grip his hip and watch as a surge of come spurts from the head of his cock in a creamy arc.

"Yeah, that's it, babe. So gorgeous." He is. It is.

Fraser groans louder and turns away to strip his cock hard, from the base upward, the thick spunk landing on his fist to be washed away by the shower's spray. He's trembling against my chest, his hand still tight around his cock, squeezing out the last of it.

His head drops down and he gives a quiet moan. The muscle in his jaw is still clenched; I can see it twitching, and I lean over to pass my lips over it. Fraser turns his head and kisses me, his lips loosening against mine.

"I've never done that before," he whispers against my mouth.

_No kidding_ is what I'm thinking, but I'm careful not to say it, because he did it for me. He'd do anything for me, which is a total one-eighty from the other big relationship in my life, where Stella held all the cards.

So I keep my mouth shut, except when I open it to Fraser's tongue, which is perking right up, playing some good violin music, stroking against mine. He licks up right behind my front teeth, tickling the ridge there, and I pull back from the kiss to give an urgent message with my hips. My cock is ready to bust a seam. Fraser shoots me an apologetic look and turns me in his arms to face the shower stream. He takes my hand and makes me hold myself, wrapping his fingers around mine.

"Show me," Fraser whispers in my ear, his voice all kinds of rough and shaky.

So I show him, stroking myself slow, curling my fingers down to ride my own palm. I can feel Fraser grip me on the bottom of my shaft, pressing down so the base is digging into my pelvis, driving me like a fucking joystick. I groan and let my head fall back to rest on his shoulder. As usual, he takes that as an invitation to use his teeth on the side of my neck, scraping me lightly and sending shivers straight up my spine. I can feel Fraser getting half-interested against my ass, but I know there's nothing doing there, not for a little while at least, so I just focus on the feel of our hands together on my cock.

Circling my hips makes the joystick thing happen in a fabulous way. I drag Fraser's other hand off my hip and pull it to my nuts. Fraser holds them up and the water hits them funny, making them tingle. He weighs them in his hand before closing his fingers and teasing my testicles, rolling them around in there.

I groan and shift my grip to take myself seriously in hand. The stream from the shower is tingling over the head as I pump my cock. Fraser lets go to lean over me and watch, and that is just so fucking hot, I have to start jacking quick through the hard ring of my index finger and thumb, letting my other fingers brush the shaft below. I'm moving it now, really jerking, and the callus on the knuckle of my trigger finger is rubbing just right on the rough bit I have under the head. I feel his hand between my legs from behind, and I spread them a little, giving him room. His fingertips stroke me behind my nuts, and I feel him slip his thumb into me, sweet as you please, and it makes me clench hard, loving the pressure inside pushing against the outside. I make this unholy sound and start jacking myself faster.

"Beautiful," Fraser whispers in my ear, and I don't care if he means it or not, because it's enough that he's watching, warm and solid behind me and in me and _in_ this with me, and my nuts tighten right up in Fraser's fingers, and I let out a heavy groan as I feel the clench and _push_ and the come shivering out, shooting out, and Fraser moans something appreciative as I squeeze around him, but I am coming too fucking hard to listen.

I come out of it to find myself leaning back on Fraser, who has grabbed the soap and is rubbing it over my chest. He's nuzzling my ear, too, giving me little nibbles along the rim. He's always had a thing for my ears, he told me once, really embarrassed. I never thought of my ears as anything special; but then, I never thought of myself as anything particularly special after Stella stopped thinking it, but Fraser has seemed dead-set on contradicting me there. Fraser seems to think I am starched underwear, pemmican pizza and the first snow of winter, all wrapped into one, and I'm trying my damnedest not to fuck that up.

Fraser rinses me down and we both have whale blubber for legs as we climb out of the shower and dry off, sharing a towel. I like the way it smells after he's rubbed himself down with it, and I spend a lot of time running it over my head. When Fraser goes to the sink to fix his hair, I grab the comb away from him and mess it up again, the wet strands all silky between my fingers.

"Let's go to bed. I wanna see it when it dries like this."

Fraser ducks his head, but I can see the smile twitching there, wanting out, wanting out. It's always like that, just there underneath, when we're like this.

So, maybe Fraser doesn't show things so easy, but that's okay.

I know how to look.


End file.
